“That was a young man. Now, I’m an old one with responsibilities.”
“Barely thirty. You’re in your prime.” Her nails clawed at the tense muscles of his back. “The right wife can help.”
“Watch the waistcoat. The threading is fragile.”
“Then we should take it off.”
“No, Lavinia. And no, I need no wife. And you have too much of a personality to be a mere mistress. It’s best we stay friends.”
“I want you, Daniel, and I want you to marry me.”
Why was his aunt and now Lavinia trying to marry him off?
“Daniel, are you too good for dear old Lavinia? You’re hunting for one of those young misses in white. Some virginal thing that wouldn’t look twice at you because you weren’t a gentleman of leisure.”
He cocked his brow and stared. “If I were to need companionship, it would be an unassuming, scandal-free mistress, not a wife. Not again.”
“You’ve changed, Daniel. Or shall you demand I say Lord Ashbrook? You’ve taken on airs since your elevation. I’m not good enough.”
“You want to call me a nose-up barrister?”
Her lips pressed tightly together, but he dared her to mention the things he taught all his friends in thetonto forgo—his race, his father, and now his daughter. His other friends knew better.
Lavinia laughed; the notes vibrated against his tight chest. He relaxed and joined in. “Isn’t there someone waiting for you at home, Lady Lavinia? A poodle, another husband, a riding instructor?”
She put her hands into his thick-curled hair, sculpted on the side and up top, and claimed his mouth.
Lavinia was good, irresistible and Daniel was losing this argument. He was lonely. Wasn’t there something nice about a woman knowing what she wanted?
She worked off his coat, but the notion of how tawdry it was to be seduced in his office, the place he worked so hard to gain a seat pressed. He pried free and noticed additional legs for the sofa.
Two bore slippers.
“Daniel, what?”
Slippers with buckles.
Scandal. A witness.
“There’s surprise evidence, Lavinia. We must say good evening, now.”
“Daniel?”
“New information.” He pointed her to the slippers; ones he’d seen earlier this evening dancing with Willingham. He walked Lady Lavinia to the door. “We’ll continue this discussion later.”
“Will we, ducky? Or will someone else be on your diary schedule? Feet have a tendency to multiply.”
“My dear, I’ll be in touch.”
“You’d better, my Lord Ashbrook, you’d better.”
She left.
A sigh steamed from his nostrils, clouding his lenses. He spied rope dangling from the window. This was a serious Widow’s Grace operation, done at his office, at the Lincoln’s Inn.
He plopped onto the edge of his desk and folded his arms.
“We’re alone now, miss. You can make your presence known.”
